


Double-Dare

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Kidnapping, Mental Torture, Mildly Dubious Consent, Porn, Rough Sex, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 12:52:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10465461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: A loose request from Anonymous for the 'Reader breaking into the Baker household as a dare and Lucas finding them.' I filled this in a bit since the request was vague.Warning for: see tags for warnings, mainly violent sex and Lucas being Lucas.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).



If you weren’t so damned in love with Johnny - long black hair, guitar-playing Johnny Smith - then you wouldn’t have taken Beth’s flashlight from her wobbling fingers and gone in yourself. This was probably the dumbest thing you can remember doing since middle school, but you had it bad and a couple of weeks ago it was leaked that Johnny might actually think you were cute so...this is really just a pissing contest between you and Beth to see who could impress the guitarist of ‘Demolition Magicians.' Yeah, hot band members, real shitty name. 

Honestly, you haven't been laid in a couple of years, and it's not that you're picky...it's just that you've got a thing for assholes apparently and you've been craving someone like Johnny to give you what you've needed for way too long.

“Come on - don’t be stupid,” Beth tells you, and behind her, Stephanie agrees - her brother, who is always tagging along with you and your friends ‘weekend outings’ is rubbing his hands in the cold, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. You suspect he's got a boner for Beth, but the way he's been sneaking glances at your ass says otherwise. 

Johnny is grinning as he texts something in on his phone - the light off the screen highlighting his lip ring. 

Why do this? - you wonder. He’s not even looking. But you do, regardless and to hell with the consequences.

You're busy slapping the flashlight until it kicks on when suddenly, Johnny looks up and gives you one of those winning smiles, and you fall apart like the lead actress in some dumb romance. You need that cock, you think, blaming the red of your cheeks on the cold, dry air.

“Don’ listen to her - I dare you,” he says, looking back at the bright screen of his phone and that's all it takes for you to feel dangerous enough to laugh under your breath and kick the toe of your shoe inside a slot in the gate. You hop over the rusty fence, landing inelegantly on your knees. 

The cold, moist ground soaks in the scruffy material of your jeans, but it’s been awhile since you’ve done something so daring and you like the dirty, wet feeling - it makes you feel invincible. At the last second, you shrug off your jacket, tossing it just barely over the fence for Beth to grab with a pensive frown. You might not mind getting dirty, but you're not gonna let dust or a loose nail ruin your prized bomber jacket. No way - not when that thing used to belong to an actual vet. 

Beth opens her mouth, but you laugh breathlessly in the cold. 

“Calm down,” you tell her with a shitty smile, “I’ll be right back and don't let Steph wear that jacket, she'll get her perfume all over it - and chill out, nothin' bad's gonna happen.”

Oh, how wrong you were when you decided to say that…and how stupid you were to do it all over some hair-brained guy whose only talent was holding a guitar on stage and looking like he had a big dick under those tight jeans.

Standing at the bottom of the overgrown pathway, you absorbed the full breadth of the house. It’s a dead looking thing; a falling monument of the old days. Sure, it's creepy, but abandoned houses always were. Thinking yourself safe enough, you jog up to the door, wood screaming with disused under your converses. You don’t spare a second thought to the noise - never once thinking it could have been actual screams. 

As far as you know, no one’s been here for years and years, at least that’s what Stephanie had told you. It’s been since last August you’d moved down from the mainland, and this spooky bundle of sticks already had a reputation before the family that owned it up and disappeared.

It’s exciting, you think, feeling a weightless rush up in your chest. With the crisp, fall air surrounding you and the smell of sweet plant decay, you spit in your sleeve and rub at a dusty window. It’s almost impossible to see inside with the wrought iron bars covering the windows - it’s dark and dirty too...but something inside flickers like a roaming candle, and your mind starts running wild with theories of ghosts and monsters, and suddenly you're frantically searching for a way to get inside.

This is all genuine excitement. For the moment you’ve forgotten about impressing Johnny, with his taped up fingers and lip piercing. Your fingers snag into a window latch, one with no bars, and - yes!

“...ah’esome,” you mutter, feeling the window sill give way. 

It makes a deadly sound and back down the pathway, behind the gate, you think you can hear the girls shouting whispers at you to quit fucking around, but screw them. You want to see whatever that floating light was and before you know it you're fumbling through the cracked window and tumbling to the floor inside. It doesn’t smell like dust...the odor is repugnant and offensive inside your nostrils. Something like rotten meat, you think and gag before getting back up to your knees. What kind of dead animal made that sort of reek? It's so bad your eyes water and even a sleeve covered palm over your nose doesn't do a damn thing to dampen it.

That light from before is gone.

“Damn it,” you curse behind your sleeve. A creak in the room to your right startles you for a second before the walls scuffle like rats were running around and you sigh with nerves on fire. It's an old house, you remind yourself, there will be creaky floorboards and unexplainable sounds. Nothing to worry about.

It's spookier than you'd have thought, though. 

With a click, you turn the flashlight off and navigate via the limited light spearing in through the glass panes. In a few minutes the rays of the dying sun outside won’t be of any help, but maybe the ghosts will be more active when the sun goes down and then the flashlight won’t make a difference. Until then, you step forward into a long hallway. Closed doors on your right and an open one to your left. You wonder where the light you’d seen had come from...maybe the end of the hallway? You press onwards with heartbeats in your throat. 

That sour, reek of rotting meat gets stronger as you walk down the hallway, but as you reach the end and take a right further down, it starts to wane enough you can breathe easy again. There are plenty of images attached to that smell, but you settle on a dead possum, or ‘coon instead of some passed away drifter - in any case, you're not going to see for yourself. The rot might put you under anyhow. 

The further down you go, the darker it gets and after reaching a door with an elegant animal carving...you feel more foolish than eager for running after a ghost. Those of which, as you've told yourself, don't exist. As a child, you knew they weren't real, and as an adult, with a car payment and bills, you still don't believe in them. Yet, when you catch a blob of white-yellow reflecting off a pane of glass, your hands are immediately on the intricate door knob; twisting it open with all the relish of untainted youth.

Before you open the door you see a flicker of shadow out the corner of your eyes, you turn with a gasp, momentarily frozen. There's nothing there at the end of the dim hallway...but you could have sworn...no. You calm your heart and resolve yourself once again before pushing the door open. 

The house, you realize, is huge. It's bigger inside than out somehow, and the vast openness of it is startling. 

It's brighter here too, but not by much. A grand opening with two crawling stairwells that meet up on a landing sets up the skeleton of the room. There's dust and grime, yes there is, but the floors look glossy as if it hasn't seen enough disuse to become dusty yet. It's not something you focus on, but something about the shine under your feet is unsettling. Still...you want to find that orb - the ghost! - so you press onward, surveying the large parlor. 

You linger around a table with some chairs lifted up in the center of it; a tablecloth printed in spring flowers is draped halfway off the surface. Old magazines and newspapers, coated in cigarette butts and dried petals from the dead flowers hanging in a vase at its middle, cover the rest of it. You squint at the date printed in black on the article but it's only getting darker outside and thus inside, and it's so yellowed with age you can't be bothered. 

“...now,” you mutter to yourself, “where was it you ran off to?” There's too many doors to choose from you can't even begin to figure out where to start. 

With no warning, a sudden shattering of glass throws you down on the floor; hands over your head. With your heart in your throat, you stay there for a full minute before swallowing down a terrified breath, peering up around the edge of the table. The light from before is bobbing around through another series of glass panels framing a thick door. It leads outside, you think. 

Someone's outside - the ghost or...no it definitely moves like someone's carrying it. It might be a lantern. You crouch down there behind the table and stare out the bubbled window panes and come to the conclusion it couldn't be anything else but a lantern, carried by a person. 

"...fuck me," you curse under your breath. A person means you're trespassing and you need to leave before you're found and arrested. As much as you've had fun playing the bad girl for Johnny and your friends, you've only ever gotten that one speeding ticket when you were sixteen, and you can't imagine being hauled away for breaking and entering. 

You pull yourself up, palms on the table and reach back down to grab the flashlight. With your ass stuck out, bending low, you hear a hushed chuckle...

...the fuck? 

For some reason, the sound doesn't make you startle to the floor like that busted glass did. It's not a shocking sound...but it freezes you midway up with your light in your palm. Was it your imagination, maybe? No, it's real, and you know it. Someone was behind you.

Very carefully, you stand back up, squaring your shoulders as if that would help the looming confrontation. But maybe it's nothing, after all, you think; hope. It won't be anything, you tell yourself. The ghost hunting and fear for the cops throwing you in a cell have spooked you so bad you're hearing things. 

Ever so slowly you turn around.

Standing there in the open doorway is a towering, lanky figure; hood up with an object that looks suspiciously like a cereal box in his hand. It's a guy, and for a second you think it might be Johnny but Johnny was shorter, and he'd been wearing his leather jacket tonight, not a hoodie. 

“...heeee-heh!” the figure wheezes. 

He's laughing - but not in a normal way. Your heart flutters, missing beats, as you try to process what's happened. You've broken into an occupied house, apparently, and instead of being questioned by this person, as any homeowner would do, he's keeping incredibly quiet and ominous. Maybe he's not the homeowner, maybe you’ve stumbled upon a group of homeless - of squatters...

You resolve; lips thin and speak up thinking you're about to explain yourself and apologize but a weak request falls out between your lips instead, “Please...don't call the cops.”

This is apparently incredibly funny to him because he hugs the box in his hands and bends over hacking fits of ruckus laughter - it resounds around the large parlor, bouncing off the walls until it feels like it’s all around you. Raw hot stones fill your stomach; make it leaden and ill as that sick, scared feeling takes hold. Something reflects off the wild eyes set into the darkness of his hoodie, and you twist, fear morphing into dread to face the not-so-distant visage of a woman; lantern in a coiled fist.

“Lucasss! Who do WE’have HERE?! - what’s SHE doin’-wh-where’d she coME FROM?!” The woman is a pale horror risen from a grave - draped in filthy clothes writhing with maggots.

Staring for a short second in shock, your shoes skid across the shiny floor, stepping backward until you feel pressure on your shoulders and scream. It feels like you scream forever as hard, bony fingers dig into your shoulders. Hot breaths waft down the side of your face, heating the fear-sweat-skin across your neck and shoulder. You rock back and then jolt forward, slipping out of his wretched grip, knees crashing to the floor. 

“Heeeey, girl - yur ah’ slippery one ain'tcha?” The man behind you giggles - it’s the first you’ve heard of his voice and if you weren’t convinced yet that you were surrounded by obscene, living ghosts then you are now. It’s a spooky house of horror-delights, and you curse, scramble over the floor and try to shove the guy aside to get the fuck out of this place, but his fingers are latched into your hair before you can even get to your feet. Coming fast towards you is the walking corpse with that trick lantern.

“...oh’god, please! I-I-I-I-”

Above you, the man grunts, tugging you back against his hard knee with a show of strength and violence that scars you silent. He pulls until your arched against the length of his leg; his knee digging between your shoulder blades like an icepick and your breasts rising over your ribs with each stuttering inhale.

“Ah’ah! Mama, this one here’s mine. Sweet cheeks, here was jus’ lookin’ around, that’s ah’lllll. Ain’t that right, baby? We were jus’ gettin' a little snack!” He shakes a half-empty cereal box beside your head, giggling rapidly.

It’s hard not to shake and tremble as ‘Mama’ comes closer. Her snarling white lips thin into a broken line and then...curl into a smile warm enough to boil milk. Behind her mouth, you swear you can see worms wriggling around. It all too much to form a response. In your horror, your brain is about as useful as your body, which is currently held immobile against a madman.

“Ooooh,” she cooed, lifting her lantern light until you can’t help but squint. A long bead of sweat slides down the side of your face as she studies you. 'Mama' licks her lips and grins in a show of teeth and spider legs, “oh’my boy’s FINALLY found ‘imself a charming little lady? I’m just SO’so PROUD! Mah’ baby boy - my sweet angel! She treatin' you well? SHE better BE’or I’ll SLICE OFF that LittLE’CUNT and stuff’er with fertilizer!”

What had she called him? Lucas?!

You blinked away falling tears and curl your nails into the loose fabric around Lucas’ wrist, holding on tight as ‘Mama’ licks her hidden insects while scrutinizing every sordid inch of you. Against your back, Lucas' knee jerks and he laughs as you whimper in response. 

“She’s ah reeaalll clingy bitch, but she’s mine,” he says in a harsh, sultry timbre even thicker than Johnny’s. 

Your friends, you think suddenly. You’re half ready to threaten these ghosts with their presence, but you realize just before opening your mouth, that saying a single word could cause them harm as well. You teeter between begging and silence and have no time for debating when Lucas is jerking you to your feet, curling an iron bar of an arm around your middle. His moist breath caresses your cheek; lips working close against the sweat trail on your temple.

You feel a tongue slide out - tasting your fear - and you weep. Lucas likes that, though, judging by the way his lips curl against your skin.

“You be a gentleman now, LUcasss...ah’ raised you RIGHT!”

“I’m’heheee - I’m raised right now,” Lucas slurs, rolling his hips up into your tense rear, jabbing you with the hard bulge of a dick buried under those baggy pants. The implication is dreadful, yes, but you feel at the pinnacle of fear already, and the threat of rape feels less terrifying after staring into the mouth of ‘Mama’ for so long now. Those bugs; wet and slimy and squirming...and peeking out to get a look from between those gray peeling lips. You shudder to think what the man behind you must look like behind the shadows, of what will be staring at you as something bigger but no less like those worms will be invading your body.

This is all some alcohol induced nightmare. Johnny and Beth’s brother have pressured you into more shots than you can handle...and you're drunk and dreaming, and this is not real - can't be real.

“...not real, it’s not real. Wake up’wakeup’wakeup-” you chant and mumble and only realize you're moving because your shoe catches on a stair and you stumble, breathing fresh air. 

A trailer stares back at you - a skinny sad looking woman leaning against the edge of the open door, looking at you. For some reason you don’t scream for help like you would have...there’s something calculating and hollow in those large eyes as you drag your feet through overgrown weeds and hard packed earth.

“Don’t bother with that bitch Zoe - she wishes she could get in! but this one don’t run on codes. She’s gonna have to do some digging to crack it this time!” he whistles, tugging you along past the trailer. 

Zoe’s hard eyes follow you, shimmering with something unspoken. You can’t say for sure, but you have a feeling if anyone’s going to come to your rescue, it will be her. Until Lucas’ pressing you against a metal door, you stay locked in her gaze; tears running down your cheeks. So much for being a badass, you think, only having a small amount of energy left to find something about all this ironic…

You’d have laughed at yourself - bitterly of course - if not for Lucas pressing deep bruises into your arm, dragging you into the dark depths of fresh hell. The scent of animal feces runs up your nose, but it’s mixed with something musky and clean; clinical. You don’t want to know what the antiseptic smell could be, but it grows stronger the further inside he pulls you. Up stairwells and down hallways, around corners and through a dark, dim door with a keypad. 

When he shoves you forwards, down on your knees, it’s into a sea of blackness. The door slams and locks behind you with an electronic latch When you turn around, trembling he’s watching you through a metal framework door, a hand shuffling down in the guts of that cereal box. You look at the silhouette of him as he shoves a mouthful of puffs into the dark hood. The sound of crunching should make him appear more human, but it does nothing of the sort.

It's so dark you can't even catch a glimmer of eyes or teeth or anything to say a human actually sits inside that darkness. Only his humming speaks of some substance, but even that could be disembodied. 

The fact that he’s shut you in here, a space that feels bigger than a cell, is less unsettling somehow. You’ve always been a little claustrophobic…and that fear piled on top of all the others could be what does you in. 

“Noowww…” he slurs, “I know this has been a real speed date, but I like what I see, and now I gotta ask you to sit tight. Me an’ you are gonna try a little experiment I’ve been dabbling with. Always wanted someone to make a game of it! And yew! Yur jus’ what I’ve been waiting for!” Lucas giggles and tosses the cereal box off to the side - it sounded empty.

You settle on silence, as if you could make a rebuttal, you think brokenly.

Lucas wraps his fingers inside the metal lattice, slipping his forehead against the framework and you glance the shape of a hooked nose. It's human, but that does little to dampen your unease. Kneeling there on the floor you try to move your lips around words, but he laughs as you flounder.

“Keep that up, and I'll have to name you after a fish. Either spit it out or don’ bother. There's no time to waste!”

“...what game am I playing?” You finally ask, and you're too proud of yourself for speaking, and not stutter that you miss the long groan he emits at your question - as if it makes him sexually pleased. 

“Go on…” he seethes darkly; an edge of pure pleasure on the tip of his tongue, “find out fer yourself. I'll be watching, so don't go cheatin’, now. Make yourself at him, baby.”

Lucas leaves you there in the darkness, rattling the door as if they were fine metal lattices. Once he rounds the corner, gone, you touch the framework and frown. 

There's no way a human man could have made them shake like that...you think and stand there awhile and try to practice that breathing exercise you remembered from somewhere. You breathe in, counting to four, pause and breathe out counting to four. It doesn't work, only making you feel out of breath and dizzy and still here! - still stuck in this darkness with…

...as you turn, hopeless, in the distance you see a faint red light. It's a steady, pinprick of starlight. 

You walk carefully forwards, arms outstretched and converses scoring the hard floors. You picture landmines scattered around your feet, blowing you into tiny gooey chunks and feel sweat slide down your temple. Even though your mind is only half functioning while the other half has shriveled like a dried prune with fear, you realize that something like Lucas would rather toy with you than see you blow prematurely. Still, you're careful as you can be and when you bump into a wall, it's impossible not to scream.

The red light is a button, and without hesitation you press it. Immediately a bank of monitors lights up, exposing the room with a myriad of colors, motions and...high, peels of moans and screams.

You stand there staring up at it all, mouth dropping open. 

Dozens of gyrating bodies writhe and twist and bounce in front of you. Porn blares in several directions. Horrified, you take a step back until your shoulder bangs into a freestanding column, making you land on your ass. You're too shock by the scenes unfolding in front of you to cry as your tail bone sings in pain.

“Ooops! Who left this on?!" Lucas taps in through some static-laced intercom system, "Hahahahaheeeeee-oh! My bad!”

You blink and cringe at the graphic sight of a huge cock forcing its way inside a petite woman's asshole; tears streaming down her face until her lips curl and she begs ‘fuck me, daddy-oh! fuck me good!’ It's sordid and unexpected, and it makes your gut dance in a way different than it had before, but no less unpleasant. 

‘yes, i'm your dirty little whore! oh’oh’oh’yessss…’

You swallow and close your eyes, but the volume level rises as if Lucas has turned it up for you, knowing you've squeezed your eyes shut, and behind it all, you can hear him choking on his own amusement. The moans and wet, pounding slaps of flesh on flesh invade your skull and stays there.

You open your eyes and take a deep breath.

A guy on one of the screens is face fucking a Hispanic looking woman with mascara tracks running under her eyes; strings of saliva branching her chin with his balls and a spent load already sliding down her chin and neck. Another screen is a full-frontal of a blushing vagina as a meaty cock slips in and out at a frantic pace. It’s more of the same variant down the line - just straight fucking and brutal at that. Their’s male gasps and groans and slurs and female cooing and screaming, but it's all small women and huge cocks, which says more than you want to know about the guy who's decided to mind wash you with porn. 

None of it looks pleasant - it’s all meant for a male audience though you can’t help feeling a trickle of moisture betray you as you watch. No, there’s no way this could turn you on. You’ve got nothing against porn - hell, you’ve masturbated to it often enough...but this kind of fucking is pure punishment; ritualistic almost. You don’t find it arousing...but you do and no matter which room you venture to the sounds follow.

There’s a speaker setup everywhere you can think to go, even if you can’t see most of them. After an hour it starts to wear down on you in more ways than mentally.

“...get out, get out, get out...make it stop, please!” You chant and scream, pacing the apartment-like setup with your hands over your ears and your head ducked down. There’s no escaping it…and the more you beg, the more you have the listen to Lucas over the intercom; snarling with gleeful waves of laughter. The porn keeps playing in a loop. This means that he’s selected the videos by hand...how many had he watched before finding the ‘perfect’ ones for this torture? - you don't want to know.

A terrible mental image of him as nothing but a shadowed hooded figure with a giant red-tipped cock breaching the light - a hard stroking fist wrapped tight around the meat of it as he searches for the right videos to play for her, for whoever he found to throw inside this horrible pit of depravity.

The thought excites you, somehow - for some fucking reason. It’s all the sounds and the echoing urging of ‘yes’oh yess, harder...fuckme’fuckme’fuckme’ that’s finally getting to you. This is Lucas' plan, isn't it?

He won’t tell you no matter how hard you scream at the speakers. Only when you're clutching yourself - arms wrapped around your chest and stomach - shivering, does the volume turn down enough you can hear the intercom sizzle on…

“Ya’ know I picked these out especially fer someone jus’ like you! I’m not sure what to call it yet but ah’ got this here aa’hhh’theory that- Oh’ wait, you ain’t a fuckin’ dyke are you? ‘Cause that would really make this awkward.”

There’s silence from his end until the slaps of flesh and putrid fakes moans starts driving you crazy again.

“Well?! Are you or ain'tcha?!”

Startled into action, you shake your head, peering in and around corners to see where it is he sees you from, but if he has cameras set up, then they’re well hidden. You stare wildly and mutter a short, “...no.”

In response, you hear a great whoosh of relief from the intercoms.

“Good, good - I tell you what, baby. That would ‘ave made all this a big waste of time. So!” he chuckles, clearing his throat obnoxiously, “let's test that theory of mine! Question number one: How wet are ya right now?!”

For a moment you're speechless as your cheeks heat up; flooding with color. You’re wet, very wet and have only been getting wetter as the minutes turned into hours and it must show because that itchy laugh of Lucas' is ringing out over the grunts and groans and ‘fuck me’ chants. There is no lying about it.

“Yeah, I bet you are…” Lucas slurs through the crackle of wires. You hate him, but the hate's tainted with lust, and that makes you hate him even more - it’s a vicious, messy cycle, and eventually you have to bite your tongue and let go of the anger before it makes you do something dumb.

You wonder if he’s going to come inside. It makes sense now that he wouldn’t rape you - this is about more than that. Maybe he wants you a blubbering, sopping mess on the floor, begging for a fat cock before he shows up with what you want front and center. As your eyes close you can see it flawlessly - shadowed, hooded man, chuckling and giggling as his punishing cock sways with hard blood, ready to ruin you. Nope, you tell yourself, sinking down to the floor with your back to the monitors. He can wait until your lips are cracked white with thirst...you’ll die down here before you subject yourself to something so debase and wrong. In this way, you won’t let him humiliate you so…

Besides...Johnny would have called the cops by now right? Why were you even still here if not on the cusp of being rescued? The only other scenario is that your friends have been kidnapped as well. Is there another Lucas with another sex room tormenting Beth? Did Johnny fight and demand where you’d been taken or did he run away...or did he get eaten by ‘Mama’ and her worms…?

“I’ll tell you what, you just sit tight there and ‘you’ let me know when yur ready to play!”

“...never,” you mutter; voice hid under the silky sounds of fucking. It takes another hour before you start squirming on the floor, pressing the wet denim over your crotch down at an angle, feeling your heartbeat in your cunt. It’s humiliating enough that you bite your lips before saying anything aloud - no begging, you remind yourself, swallow the urge back down.

It takes a whole nother hour and three more loops of the monitors behind you until you tug at the neckline of your long sleeve shirt, feeling the first of many heat waves. The fresh air you urge down your neckline doesn’t help. You're starting to sweat and pant, but you're not sure if it’s all you or if Lucas has turned the heat up. He must have. Otherwise, the room would be cold...it's mid-winter, and you'd kill for a breeze, but instead you imagine a dark, lanky figure sniffling with giggles as he dials up the temperature on you; sweating you out. 

You've got a tight tank top on underneath, but still, you sit there as sweat beads on your brow, fanning the excess cotton around your collarbones; stubborn. If you take one article of clothing off it'll only be a matter of time before you take off another, and another. After a while, you can barely stand it, and that hot pressure starts to form around your temples; sweat sticking along your lower back and upper lip. 

Another playback starts with a few minutes of cheesy dialogue mixed together before the fucking starts again and those airy, whining gasps just set you off. 

"Fuck this!" You shout, uncaring because you've never felt so uncomfortably hot in your whole damn life and this is utter bullshit. You scream and dig your nails into your scalp; tears welling up in your lashes.

It's too much - you don't care if this is what Lucas wants, it doesn't stop you from clawing at your back, bunching up your long sleeve and tossing it across the floor with a curse. Fuck it - fuck everything. You're done caring. 

When the intercom laughs maniacally you shove the heels of your palms into your eyes and growl like a damn animal. 

Those fuck-sounds are endless and torturous by now. Without thought, your insides clench around nothing and you whimper. Horny as fuck by now, you realize, feeling the end crowding around you. But you don't need him...what's to stop you from just slipping a hand down the front of your jeans and finger fucking yourself until you cum? No one. He's not going to rush in and slap your hand like a naughty girl - like a bad, bad girl that needed a spanking…

“...it’s too damn hot,” you groan, wiping at the sweat on your forehead furiously. 

The tank top joins your long sleeve and your converses after that, along with your socks too. The air on your toes feels pleasant for a moment before you're burning up again and off go your jeans into the pile as well.

You sit there in your underwear, on the floor with your arms crossed over the tops of your knees, expecting Lucas to crack some joke at your expense but it's quiet until you lift your head and glare around the room, “isn't this what you wanted?! Hey-say something!”

Nothing - just the rhythmic pounding of flesh and electronic mewling. You sit there until the sounds crescendo into the dreaded cumshot. 

Despite having seen it play out a dozen times you peek at the monitors to see a dozen fat cocks squeezing out loads of cum over, in and around their gaping whores. Without thinking you lick your lips, feeling like you could taste the tang yourself. There's so much cum on the screens for a moment that you squeeze your thighs together and wonder how much longer you can hold out before you're naked and banging the walls for your own cock to suck and fuck. 

It's a terrifying thought, but this is driving you mental in so many ways, and the biggest one is you're mounting lust which only grows the more you try to block the sounds out.

When you feel your cunt ache, you ignore it. When sweat runs down between your breasts, you don't bother brushing it away because that could distract you from the arduous task of distracting yourself. When you want to scream at the top of your lungs for Lucas to come and tear your pussy to shreds you do your best to bite your tongue until the urge dissipates.

It isn't until an hour later that you stand up, rushing out the room to get away from the temptation on the screens - screens that flicker with violent, nude bodies in never ending cycle of tease, fuck, cum and repeat. Down through a tunnel of darkness is the prison door and not knowing what else to do you run to it, banging against the framework until your fists ache; bruised. There's no escape, only one way to end it, but you scream for help anyway. 

“Let me out!” You shriek, “Please! Please-someone!! GET ME OUT!!”

No one answers, but still, you scream until you can't manage it anymore - until your head pounds and tears of frustration pour down your cheeks. Johnny isn't coming for you, even if he could. That asshole wouldn't risk his neck for you, nor would Beth or Steph or her stupid brother whose name you can't even fucking remember! You're gonna die down here, or you're gonna get fucked down here. No other options...

Suddenly, less afraid and much angrier, you rattle the metal lattice and snarl, stomping back into the open room with porn blasting on all cylinders. 

“Hey-asshole! Get…” you pause...voice trembling, but this is bullshit, and you can't stand it anymore, “get over here and-and fuck…”

You need it, and he wants it, and without it, you're going to be stuck here forever in a sea of shitty porn dialogue and beefed up sounds of pleasure, and yet you can't bring yourself to say it. 

Too much - it's too humiliating. 

Finally after so much time inside your prison of sex, Lucas chimes in, “Go oh’n. Let me hear ya say it.” His tone is ragged and breathy, and you get the feeling he's been masturbating while he's been all hush-hush during your misery - the thought makes your stomach ache. 

When you don't respond, he snarls through the intercom, making an unwanted spike of delight flood downwards. Fine, this is the way it's going to be, you realize; accept. You stand there, curling your fists, trying to look strong in your mismatching underwear and glistening skin and grumble, “...fuck me.”

“Awe, don’t be that way. Didn't yur Mama ever teach you the magic word?!”

You swallow down a comeback, feeling your cunt ached softly at the idea of finally being filled. 

“...please.”

“Please, what?”

“P-please...fuck me...I can't stand it any-m-more,” it hurts to say it, but in several hours your world has devolved into nothing but darkness, penetrating heat and rough fucking and your biggest problem right now is that you're not currently getting reamed as hard as those girls on the monitors are. You're envious by now and all you can think about it gagging around a cock, getting bruised by it - fucked and slapped and cummed on. All of it. You want it all, and with your hands in the ends of your hair, you turn around in a circle whimpering. 

“Please’please come down here. I don't care anymore,” you slur, gasping with anticipation, “Fuck me - you can fuck me like they’re getting fucked, or harder! Jus’ pleeaaasse…don't make me wait anymore’please!”

Lucas’ response is immediate, “I'm comin’ in.”

You breathe a sigh of relief mixed smoothly with equal parts dread and step towards your cell door. The lubrication from your cunt makes your thighs slippery even past your underwear and by the time you're standing in front of the door, your face feels like it's on fire. 

Through the speakers, you can hear that petite woman with the mohawk getting speared with two cocks; her moans pleasurable...or painful? You don't know and you don't care because you catch sight of a long shadow spreading across the floor just around the corner hallway and all you can think about is a long, veiny cock fucking you blind. You hope it's big - you need it big, anything less than big won't cure what ails you.

Lucas fills up the archway, not because he's wide but because he's so fucking tall. You've never wanted to be fucked so badly in your life, but you swallow anything that would further humiliate you and settle on curling your fingers around the metal framework; teeth in your lower lip.

Lucas remains there in the doorway, so far away, a small duffel bag in his right hand. His silence makes you itch until you can’t bite down your words anymore. 

The fucking sounds of all this...fucking is too much. 

“Well?!” You blurt out, “this...it's what you wanted, right?! Well, come on then...get in here and fuck me already!” For a second you think he tenses, but his face is still obscured under the hood so you can't be sure. This pussy-footing around is getting on your nerves, though.

With a snarl you tear your hands off the grate and slap your fists into it; snarling, “Get the fuck over here!”

You don't expect him to do as you ask, but he does, and suddenly he's got his fingers stuck in the lattice, peering in at you. The glow from the distant monitors showering his face in short light and - his face...

He's human, and there are no writhing insects or fluttering spiders leaking out of his mouth, but he's haunting just as well. Lucas isn't a walking corpse either. Not a skeleton, but close. He looks like he hasn't slept ever nor eaten in weeks, maybe months, but you remember him shoving handfuls of stale cereal in his mouth and know he's alive. 

The hard angles of his jaw and cheekbones look painful, and the bruised bags under his eyes are not attractive...but you stand there, sweaty, still needing to be horribly and brutally fucked by him and finding him, in his horrific glory, utterly charming at this moment. Something about him makes a fresh leak of moisture flood your underwear, adding to the mess you've become. 

"I'm broken," you muse; eyes fluttering around his features with fascination. Carefully, as if petting the head of a viper, you press your fingers through the grate and touch his sunken cheek. The unshaven edge of his jawline feels like sandpaper under your touch. 

“Look at what you've done to me,” you mutter in disbelief, watching the crease under his eyes deepen in pleasure. Lucas likes that - the idea of you being torn inside and out, leaving nothing but moldable putty behind or maybe you're over thinking it and he just really wanted a chick to fuck like this. You can think of a few guys getting off to this sort of thing, maybe having a fantasy just like this one. He's an asshole, and he's pulled this off...so he's a smart asshole. 

“I know,” he sighs, narrowing his eyes as your thumb brushes his chin, “It's great ain't it?! And the ol' man said I'd never accomplish anything worthwhile, well wait until he see's you.” 

You lower your gaze, lick your lips and rake your nails against the edge of his jaw. There's a tremble to his lower lip as if he's so excited he just can't contain it...or it's nerves. You can't imagine Lucas being nervous after spending all this time destroying your mind, but his head tilts towards your curling fingers, and he gets this look as if - just this alone - makes him whole. That, you decide, is a problem for another time, if you even survive what's about to happen to you. Right now you need to be fucked.

With your forehead resting on the refreshing metal grate, you whimper softly, “...Lucas.”

His name makes him blink, bloodshot, bulging eyes zeroing in on you. 

“Come on...open this door and do us both a favor,” you urge - not begging, no...but you do, and it works.

Your ears perk at the sound of a keypad being tapped - he enters the code wrong the first time and the second and growls in a mess of hot minty breath and finally get it right the third time. 

A happy little sound of confirmation precedes the door cracking open.

Immediately, refusing to waste a second, you shove through, catching him off guard, and knock him back on the ground. There’s no forgiveness for the fact that, instead of running away, you throw yourself down on him and tackle the belt keeping you from what you want. It’s cock you want - you want it so bad you can taste it on the back of your tongue. You can feel it as Lucas laughs underneath you, jostling you up and down as his thighs shake with mirth. You don’t care - you swallow down a well of saliva and yank at the open belt, watching his hips lift and fall and proceed to tear at the button and zipper with frenzy until...yesss…

The weight of a fat cock fills your hands, and you're so fucking relieved and grateful you could cry, but you don't - no time for shit like that!

“H-hey, now you don' got-” he starts, all ragged grins with prickly stubble and mischievous eyes with a stutter. You spit a wad of saliva on your palm, and he goes quiet, staring. With a sadistic leer, you grip his hard cock and shove your drenched underwear to the side, spearing yourself on him right then and there. 

The sudden, violent intrusion feels so good you sob and shove yourself down further until his hip bones are cutting into your ass.

He’s dead quiet; frozen in place. Barely a glance spared, you roll your hips, fucking him until the tight, unhappy wreck between your thighs floods and stretches. It’s so good...and it’s only better when you finally take in the bewildered, painful look on his face. Lucas’ eyes are stretched wide, staring at the slippery spot where you’re both connected, mewling as you rock and roll in his lap. 

It's another form of pleasure to see this asshole rendered immobile underneath you - so surprised and thunderstruck he can't even begin to respond.

In the darkness behind you, the speakers thud out wet moans and pleas just as you start to blubber the same dumb nonsense. 

“...fuck me, fuck’yessss, baby please!”

It leaks out between your teeth no matter how hard you clench them shut - same with the high grunts and groans that fall out your throat. You can’t help it, but the thick, tight slide of Lucas' cock doesn’t provide much mercy. Lucas doesn’t have to do anything. He can lay there in a state of shock all night if he wants. As long as he stays hard and pulsing you can clear away this ache; cure yourself on his standing dick until he’s as much a mess as you...then you’ll just walk out of here with a broad smile. 

You gasp, fuck down into him as the image satisfies you deeper than your cunt can handle.

It doesn’t last, though - Lucas wouldn’t remain prone forever. It shouldn’t come as a surprise when he clamps his hands around your ribs and throws you both around, but it does. The sudden, hard surface of the cold concrete floor takes your breath away, but you would have just screamed anyway because you watch, with wide, desperate eyes, as Lucas slides his hips back and slams them down. Something inside you thrums - it's wrong. Nothing should be forced that deep inside you and keep ramming in without stopping, but it does, and even though your mind throws itself into a panic, your body doesn't care and sings it's delight. 

“Oo’ah - Gawd!” you scream, banging your head back, “Yesssss’sss!”

It's like Lucas had hit the detonate button with the tip of his cock. You claw at the floor, breaking open the beds of your fingers as you arch and spread your thighs, throwing your ankles up around his hips; locking them tight. 

Lucas might have taken awhile to come around, but you can’t fault him for it because his thumbs dig under your ribs, gaining purchase, and fucks you hard enough you should be sobbing and begging him to stop, but you're screaming for more. Bliss, cut with agony - so rich and crude - rushes up your spine and takes hold. The pleasure is revolting in its intensity, and yet you beg him for more. 

“Fuck. Me. Harder!” you snap, throwing your arms around his neck, hanging on while Lucas snarls - eyes wild - and tugs your ribs up until your half bent and then does exactly as you asked.

He fucks you hard enough to break your hip you think; hard enough to tear you apart. Pain throbs in your gut, but you're so close to cumming you don’t care if he kills you in the process.

“Yur…” he gasps and swallows, slowing down, “bleedin’.”

You curl your fingers into his neck, wishing you hadn’t cut your nails that morning, wanting desperately to make him bleed too, “No-don’t stop...fuck, please…” So close - he can’t stop now. “I’m so-so fucking close!”

He makes a weird noise, but you don’t bother to look at him, just twist forward and slap your ass down into his thighs, taking what you want. You don’t need ‘him,' just his cock...that’s all. Just fuck me, you think, desperate as that tight little pinch of the end starts to build and mount above the pain. Don’t let him grow a fuckin’ conscious now, you pray, tearing into your lower lip as everything starts to compress into a single, beautiful implosion.

You come silently while Lucas trembles above you - it's silly, you think, unable to voice a single sound since you haven’t been able to shut up until now. But it’s so good you can’t be bothered. The euphoria blinds and steals your voice as it floods and leaks outward...somewhere you think you hear a man - Lucas - mumbling incoherent things above you. You can’t find a single care to give as your arms slap back on the floor; useless.

The terrible orgasm leaves you with a full, wet smile as your body rocks against the thrusting of his cock. Still, his hips pound away between your weak thighs, but it’s sluggish compared to before, and after a deep, ragged plunge he pauses and chokes. That thick rush of cum stings...but pain means nothing right now. He could cut your belly open, and you wouldn’t even notice.

“Baby-baby, don’ hate me-” he mutters, peeling his fingers out of your skin.

You hiss, feeling the ache of finger marks along your ribcage and shiver at the delicious way it mingles with the aftershocks of bliss. Lucas’ minty breath wafts down over your face, but you don’t turn your head as he blabbers unintelligible bullshit above you. It's like sweet nothings, or sounds like it...but you're ears are ringing, and you can barely hear it. 

No point in moving right now, you think, or ever again. This all feels way too good - it’s the pinnacle of pleasure, and you're a human after all. That one philosopher said that humans did everything for the pursuit of pleasure and the avoidance of pain. You were simply doing what came naturally... 

“Ya know I didn’t mean to make ya bleed. Not my fault you got thin skin - ya wanted it hard,” he tells you, stroking the side of your sweaty face, pushing away the damp threads of hair. You swallow and nod finally, moaning as the pleasure lingers in your bones. His hands slip down, squeezing your covered breasts softly - it makes you frown to feel such a delicate touch after all this. The sounds of vigorous fucking in the background make his thoughtful touches almost laughable.

“It’s...fine…” you manage as his sweaty forehead nudges between your neck and shoulder. He kisses your skin, licks away the tang of perspiration and bites at the tilt of your jawline. 

You lay there with a dopey smile, motionless and satisfied. Lucas rolls his hips back, pulling his soft cock outside the sweet heat inside and you stretch, whimpering. 

“Nooo…” you hiss and complain; tangling your fingers into the short, soft hair at the back of his scalp. There’s no more moving than this - too weak to throw him off and straddle him again.

After a minute or two Lucas lifts up, allowing the cold air to kiss your skin instead of his hot teeth.

“I gotta say, you threw me for a loop there. Wouldn’t have guessed that shit’ed work so well - kinda ah’ hope of mine more than a theory really. Worked out for the best, wouldn’t ya say?”

“...you’re an asshole,” you mutter, breathless but coherent. The orgasmic-leftovers are still swimming in your veins, but some of the fog has cleared enough that you can look at Lucas and not go completely dumb in the head. You see a dickhead leaning over you - just one that had a really nice cock...nothing more. The way he kissed your neck and stroked your hair didn’t do a damn thing...at least you tell yourself that as he stares down at you like you’re his new favorite food or something.

Lucas just grins, licking his teeth like the cat that ate the canary. As you glare, his eyes soften. He licks his lips, and you watch. When Lucas leans down with the obvious intent of kissing you, you’re not saved by yourself because...hell, you were ready for it and eager - it’s the sudden pounding of the door down the hallway that stops his journey to your puffy lips.

“Ah’grrr...stupid bitch! Ah' hid those key cards better this time.” Lucas snarls, glaring through the walls. 

You lay there underneath him, covered in dried sweat and cum and your own humiliation while he sits up on his heels - soft cock resting between his thighs.

“Well, no time like the present, right?! Time to meet the rest of the waste bags...cause you ain’t going, nowhere. But hell, you weren't gonna leave even I let you, huh?”

No, you lay there and stare up at the barren ceiling with only half your faculties intact - he’s right. Lucas is correct, and you’re not going anywhere now. Fuck, no one even came looking for you and if they did well...they didn’t get far. You’re stuck here, but you’re still too high off the fucking to worry about anything like escape or murder...or rape, which this wasn’t but should have been. 

“...alright,” you accept your fate, blinking away the sheen of unshed tears and take a deep breath, “but, you gotta help me up, cause I can’t feel my legs.”

“Yeah-yea’heh...we’re gonna have’tah work on that, baby. I’ve got more ahh’theories to test out and yur gonna have to stop all this bleedin’ business. Good news, though!" He looked utterly chuffed with himself as if he's presented a miracle cure to someone on life support, "I got just the thing fer that.”

You don’t know what he’s talking about, but...you get the feeling it’s going to change everything.

And it does.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to those that read. I hope you enjoyed this one. To Anonymous, I hope you enjoyed it. I took awhile to get to this one for some reason. Please, if you have the time, leave me a comment. If you see any mistakes let me know. I try to get them all but some slip through the cracks at times. <3
> 
> Tumblr ----> http://brimbrimbrimbrim.tumblr.com/


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